


The Best Laid Plans...

by kitsunequeen



Series: Valentine's Day [4]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 21:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3356252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitsunequeen/pseuds/kitsunequeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the request: "Connor tries to plan the perfect valentine's day to impress Oliver but everything that day goes awfully wrong,such as getting soaked in the rain,missing their reservations and food poisoning to name a few (I am hurt/comfort-fluff trash)"</p><p>----</p><p>
  <em>“My car’s in the shop,” Oliver sighs.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Of course it is.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Universe: 1, Connor: 0.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“We can walk,” Oliver offers.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Walking. Walking and holding hands. That could be romantic.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Aright,” Connor agrees, opening his door and walking around to get Oliver’s. “Let’s walk.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>———</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It rains.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Laid Plans...

**Author's Note:**

> The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry... ;)

Connor wants tonight to be perfect. Not because he hasn’thad plenty of good Valentine’s Days or anything; he has.  _Awesome_  ones, actually. But tonight is going to be perfect in the sense of how romantic it is, and not just because the guy is good in bed—though that’s pretty great too.

It also needs to be perfect as a general  _I’m sorry_  for all the shit they’ve been through lately; after all, the last time Connor stood outside of Oliver’s door with a bouquet of flowers wasn’t the result of such pleasant circumstances. The flowers tonight are different, though. They’re not I’m-sorry-I-cheated-on-you yellow, but rather did-you-know-every-flower-shop-in-town-is-out-of-red-roses-by-three-on-Valentine’s-but-I-hope-you-like-these-anyway-because-I-like-you pink.  

"Hey," Oliver says, pulling the door open almost as soon as Connor knocks. He’s wearing a black suit and his tie is Connor’s favorite shade of blue, and Connor can’t help but smile; they’re off to a good start already.

"You look great," Connor breathes, and Oliver blushes.

He opens his mouth to respond, but cuts himself off with a violent sneeze—all over the flowers, and all over Connor.

"Oh my god," he murmurs, pulling a tissue from his pocket— and the fact that he carries balled up tissues in his fancy suit jacket is a whole nother level of adorable— and wipes his nose. The tips of his ears turn as pink as the flowers, and he awkwardly reaches out, dabbing at Connor’s chest with a second tissue. “Stop laughing,” he demands.

Connor would like to, really, but Oliver is just too cute, and the way his voice had risen an octave with the request is unbearable. “I’m sorry,” he manages, plucking the tissue from Oliver’s hand and shoving it in his own pocket this time. “I’m sorry. I’m done.”

“Good,” Oliver says, but the flush has spread to his cheeks. “I um… I’m allergic to roses. I’m sorry, I should’ve said something before you bought them.”

“No,” Connor says, waving him off. “No big deal. C’mon, let’s just go get dinner.”

Oliver locks the door behind him, and Connor drops the flowers in the trash can at the end of the hall.

———

Connor turns the key in his car’s ignition, but nothing happens. He tries again. And again. And again.

“Uhh… it’s not working.”

“Has it been breaking down lately?”

“No. I drove it here, and it’s been fine for months.”

“Oh.”

Connor tries again, only to be greeted with a pathetic whining sound. Probably an  _expensive_  whining sound.

“It’s not working,” he says again.

“My car’s in the shop,” Oliver sighs.

“Of course it is.”

Universe: 1, Connor: 0.

“We can walk,” Oliver offers.

Walking. Walking and holding hands. That could be romantic.

“Aright,” Connor agrees, opening his door and walking around to get Oliver’s. “Let’s walk.”

———

It rains.

Of  _course_  it rains. Why the hell shouldn’t it rain? That seems fair.

They get soaked, naturally, neither having thought to bring an umbrella. The weatherman had promised clear skies.

They stand under the awning of the restaurant for a minute, taking deep breaths after having had to run halfway there.

“Well that was fun,” Oliver says, rubbing his wet glasses on the corner of his equally wet suit, which only serves to make streaks across them.

“At least we’re here?” Connor offers.

Oliver smiles, and Connor is reminded why he likes him so much. “At least I’m here with you.”

———

“I don’t have a reservation under Walsh.”

A short, bespectacled maître d’ stares at them, drumming his pen on his guestbook.

“Yes,” Connor insists. “You do. You definitely do, I made them three weeks ago.”

The man sighs. He’d already made his disapproval of their wet clothes quite clear, and his impatience with them is clearly growing by the second. It’s amazing how much annoyance he can convey with just his eyes.

“Mr. Walsh, there is no reservation under that name for 7:30.”

“Can you check again?” he asks.

Oliver squeezes his hand, a gentle reminder to calm down.

“There was a reservation for  _six_ -thirty under ‘Walsh’,” the man says. Connor’s not sure if he imagines the flit of a smirk across his face or not.

“No,” Connor says. “No, no, that’s wrong, I definitely made them for 7:30.”

“Clearly not.”

“No, I know I did, there’s no way I messed that up-”

“Connor,” Oliver says. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine! I’ve been planning this for weeks.”

“I don’t mind,” Oliver says. “I don’t want you to worry about it. We’ll go pick up some Chinese takeout and go back to my place.”

“Are you sure?” Connor asks, frowning.

“Of course,” Oliver assures him. “It’s fine.”

———

They reach Oliver’s apartment, twice as wet as before, with a half-soaked bag of takeout. The place had refused to deliver in the rain; smart move.

“Well that was something,” Oliver says, pulling out dishes. “Ceramic plates,” he adds, smiling. “We can be fancy all on our own.”

Connor can’t help but smile back, even if it’s not the best night so far.

“Why don’t you throw on something of mine?” Oliver asks. “You’re just a little wet. And I’ll change in a second.”

“Alright,” Connor sighs. “Thank you.”

None of Oliver’s clothes really fit him, and he ends up in a hoodie and sweatpants. Oliver assures him he shouldn’t worry about it, and changes into a similar outfit, saying, “Now we match.”

———

“This is pretty nice,” Oliver offers, scooping up a mouthful of rice.

“It was supposed to be better. Candles and tablecloths and stuff.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t punch that guy,” Oliver laughs.

“It was a close thing.”

“Well I appreciate the self-control. If you don’t like the sweatpants, you especially wouldn’t like the orange jumpsuit.”

Connor grins. “I’m just glad this is working out, somewhat.”

“Me too.”

———

It is not working out.

An hour later, Connor finds himself hunched over a trashcan, trying very hard not to throw up.

Oliver is leaning over him, a look of concern on his face.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just-” he pauses, groaning. “Stomach hurts.”

“Come sit down,” Oliver says, leading him over to the couch.

“I don’t think I can-” He stops, retches, but nothing comes up. “Don’t think I can do anything tonight.”

“I see that,” Oliver says, gently pushing Connor down by the shoulders.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? Food poisoning? That’s not exactly something to apologize for.”

“For everything,” he says.

Oliver climbs onto the couch next to him, cuddling into his side and putting an arm over his shoulder, but leaving him easy access to the trashcan in his lap.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Oliver says. “You didn’t do anything.”

“I wrecked our whole night,” Connor says. “I wanted it to be perfect, but instead I bought the wrong flowers and my car broke down and we had to walk in the rain and we wrecked our suits and we missed our reservations and now I’ve got goddamn  _food poisoning_ , and I wrecked everything.”

“I sneezed on you,” Oliver says simply.

“What?”

“As long as we’re blaming ourselves for things out of our control, I’m sorry I sneezed on you earlier. I should’ve somehow magically predicted what was going to happen and prevented it so that I wouldn’t ruin you night.”

“Oliver-”

“No, really. I definitely should’ve somehow seen it coming, and impossibly stopped it from happening.”

“You’re a dork,” Connor says fondly.

“Hey,” Oliver laughs. “God, you try to make a guy feel better… I’m serious though Connor, none of this was your fault. I had a nice night. It was just really sweet that you  _tried_  to do all that stuff. And now we can just cuddle instead.”

“Are you sure?” Connor asks.

“I’m sure,” Oliver says, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Universe: 6, Connor: 1.

It doesn’t matter; he still feels like a winner. 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Comments and kudos are always appreciated<3
> 
> Visit me on tumblr at [stilesbansheequeen](http://stilesbansheequeen.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
